


Scintillate

by Koukoi1412



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Angst, Drama, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-18 07:11:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8153447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koukoi1412/pseuds/Koukoi1412
Summary: Glass is only beautiful before it shatters. Afterward - well, it's intriguing. A collection of post-war vignettes on the lives of certain Kou characters.





	1. Focal Points (Alibaba, Kougyoku)

Her hair is not that specific shade of fanalis red that he remembers so vividly in childhood dreams of adventure-filled, carefree days. It’s ebony-magenta, and impractically long. Her scream doesn't drive away wolves, doesn’t send them crashing into walls with the strength of inhuman sound waves. It _may_ signify quite a number of equally ferocious things, from the defeat of a battalion of monsters to the annihilation of one teeny weeny spider.

Off he goes to rescue her from another nightmare of scrolls.

* * *

“What happened to _you_?”

“It was raining.”

“ _Raining?_ Seriously? Alibaba-chan, you look as if a volcano erupted all over you.”

“Like I said, it was raining, so I was forced to spend the afternoon in the research facility. Guess it wasn’t the smartest idea, huh?”

* * *

His jewelry is sparse. Nothing like golden bangles about to swallow his forearm, or enormous hoops flaunting their existence in his profile. He has two sets of the simplest jade earrings and nothing more. His hair isn’t black or red, and she thinks it’s wonderful because those colors have only ever wanted to drown her.

He sends her an amused smirk, but whether it’s because of the silliness of Ka Koubun’s latest proposal or the lagoons of dust painting themselves on her face, she’ll never know.

* * *

“It’s just a cockroach, Kougyoku.”

“B-but still, it’s a _cockroach_!”

“Well?”

“You gotta kill it! And hurry! Before it crawls under _my bed_!”

* * *

 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. They weren’t supposed to become such close friends. They weren’t supposed to meet again in Sindria, or Magnostadt, or Balbadd, or Kou. Alibaba should have stayed dead and Kougyoku had no reason to appoint him as Prime Minister.

But the world has changed and Kou has changed and the rules are different now. So, if the two highest officials in the land decide to spend an otherwise boring hour playing hide-and-seek down the ancient corridors of the palace, not one living soul dares object.

Even a very exasperated Ka Koubun.

“Kids these days,” he mutters with a heavy sigh, hoping against hope that the loud crash from down the hall was _not_ another precious antique vase gone to waste.

 A minute passes.

 

 

Two...

 

 

Three...

 

 

 

Who’s he kidding?

 

 

 

He rises to his feet with a  groan. Time to pay a visit to the royal treasury.


	2. Opalescence (Koumei)

The happiest day of his life was when he was exiled.

It was a gruesome passing of hours when he was deported to the island, bleeding through bandages and chains that could not outweigh his shame. There he lay, unable to die, unable to live, as the boat throbbed to the dirge of the waves, the roughness of the sea craft burning his sides. His brother gone, his country stolen, only grief remained to console him.

But then morning came.

Morning told him Kouen was alive, and the three of them would face exile together. What could be better than that?

(For if his brother had perished, he would have given the world to get him back.)

Now the forces at work want to tear them apart. He won’t let that happen.

“I can’t go back,” Koumei tells them. He's already come so close to losing his brother twice. His chest is marred by an ugly scar the size of a heart, and the parodied flesh of Kouen’s limbs are bitter reminders of averted fate.

Koumei was once the chief military strategist. He is also a Ren, and to be a Ren is to be a _fighter_. He readies an argument - why he should stay, why he can’t go back, ever, why Alibaba should just leave them alone since they’re useless in this state - and it comes easily, naturally, and he’s certain he can persuade the once-missing prince, but Kouen stops him.

“Kou needs you,” the other says.

A retort claws into his tongue, begging him to unleash it.

It waits.

Years ago, he didn’t resist when the soldiers dragged him away. Now he wants to. But one look into Kouen’s eyes and he knows he can’t.

Helping Kou is not a request; it’s an order. And Koumei always obeys his older brother.

* * *

There are few things the former metal vessel user desires in life. This desolate isle is one of them. Here his brothers exist, and despite the hardships of a commoner’s life, there is peace.

He has come to terms with the aftermath. Their plans failed; the world moved on. Kou managed without them. Struggling, perhaps, but surviving, and he’d be a fool not to acknowledge this. His battle wounds have scabbed over a long time ago.

The truth is, he no longer dreams of Rakushou.

Three years back, it was a different person who was banished from the palace. This Koumei is neither general nor prince. He cooks, keeps house, cleans fishing nets, leaves scraps of waste for seagulls, and looks after his ailing older brother. War councils no longer dictate his life; the highlight of each day is serving tea to a man in crutches. It’s a simple hand-to-mouth existence, but he prefers it to the sophisticated masquerade of the capital.

And now everything is about to change.

* * *

The former crown prince has spoken; torn between the shatters of his family, Koumei has no choice but to agree. He gives his final reminders (and warnings) to Kouha, and bids goodbye to lush wasteland, to ever-smelly fishnets, to banshee-voiced seagulls, and to Kouen.

For a brief, whimsical second, he remembers he once had the power to transport a whole island at will.

Alibaba waits at shore’s end, unpacking a disguise they hope will fool the ship’s crew on the journey back. Koumei runs his hand through his shortened mane one last time before joining his fellow stowaway. From Alibaba’s descriptions, he knows it will be a long time before he assumes that identity again. When they reach the sea vessel, he digs his heels into beach grit, swallows, and slips into his new skin. The navy uniform feels different, so unlike him, but it will do. Ropes are loosened; the triple sails unfurled at last. It’s time for Kou’s second prince to begin his disappearing act.

* * *

It’s quiet tonight.

_Too quiet._

Koumei gazes over starboard, hoping for a speck of his island haven, let’s out a sigh. There’s nothing anywhere but black sky and black water, and the broken stillness that feels like exile all over again.

Is this what survivors of war experience – a mixture of anticipation and worry, and the fear of finding yourself irrevocably lost? His hand reaches to scratch at his head, but hovers midway. 

It’s a typical Koumei gesture, and he is Koumei no more.

_It appears there’s more to disguises than switching clothes and hairstyles. How will I manage when I actually set foot in Rakushou?_

Out here, under the wanning moon, the palace feels so distant. What became of his pigeons? How many of his retainers are still there? And the council room – how does it look now? Perhaps some parts were refurbished to suit Hakuryuu’s tastes. Or maybe the valuables in the treasury were sold during the financial crisis. Will he recognize it? Will they remember him?

_Does it even matter?_

Suddenly, planning a homecoming seems harder than planning a war. Again, he looks over his shoulder. He sees shadows, wrong shadows.  _Missing_ shadows. The moonlight is too hollow to watch, so he settles down on the deck and imagines maps with tiny vermillion flags on the floorboards.

There are too many ghosts he left behind. He’ll have to face them eventually, for the sake of his brother’s dream – of _their_ dream.

Kouen and Koumei. Commander and Tactician. It has always been this way, until tonight. Now he doesn’t know where his footsteps are going. He has always gravitated there, always been heading there, to tell his brother, to advise his brother, to support his brother, to…

What a mess he is. A ship that lost it’s anchor is a pitiful thing.

“Hey!” someone whispers, “Koumei. What’s up?”

He glances up at the person who just emerged from under the rigging. “You swore never to refer to me by that name,” he warns.

“Relax, no one will hear. The rest of the crew is either busy or half-asleep.”

One can never be too cautious, but he hasn’t the strength to argue with his companion. After all, he had spent most of the voyage hiding among the cargo in the hold, only venturing out long after twilight had passed.

It’s dark now. But if he could see their reflections, his would probably be a mirror image of Alibaba’s self-imposed exile.

They breathe in the silence, two princes disguised on an ancient schooner, betting against all odds to reshape a nation’s destiny. Soon, the tranquil air grows awkward, and Koumei ponders which one of a million concerns he should address first.

“How is my sister?” he asks.

“She’s doing well. It’s tough being in her place, but Kougyoku’s strong, just like all of you.”

Koumei is unsure whether to take it as a compliment. He never thought he was a weakling, but he never considered himself strong either. And after the war, neither seemed to matter.

As the Kou prince searches for a reply in kind, Alibaba takes the opportunity to ramble on. “You know, this reminds me of the time I returned to Balbadd palace after years of wandering the streets. That was when Kougyoku was sent to marry my brother Ahbmad.”

He remembers that time. The emperor was furious when his younger sister returned home empty-handed. He called her an embarrassment in front of the entire court. She had been so humiliated that he worried she’d attempt to end her life. The only saving grace had been Sinbad’s visit, which, in retrospect, had been the first link in a chain of events that led to their doom.

Kougyoku should never have gone to Balbadd. The thought crosses his mind that Alibaba is in part to blame for the outcome of the war, but he dismisses it immediately. What happened was due to the lack of foresight on their part, for underestimating Hakuryuu and disregarding the possibility of outsider involvement in the civil war. It’s their mess, theirs to clean up, and he will dedicate his life to fix his greatest mistake.

Unaware of the older prince’s thoughts, Alibaba continues his little speech.

“…I couldn’t go back. Not after what I had done. But I wanted to protect my country.”

It’s the truth, and he finds a new level of respect for his companion. Alibaba is more than a dungeon conqueror, or Reim’s champion.  He fought Hakuryuu. He agreed to marry Kougyoku. In his own naïve way, this runaway prince was trying to help his people.

“That’s how you feel, right? You’ll do anything to save Kou, because it’s your home.”

 _Home._ For once, he doesn’t equate the word with nightmares.

 _Whatever we wear_ _, wherever we are, be it the throne room or a remote island, whichever side we’re on, we are Kou._

Those were Kouen’s lines on the first day of their new life. He still hangs on to every syllable.

“I think I understand how you feel. We both lost our countries. We both experienced betrayal from someone we loved.”

 _Someone we loved._ The weight of that phrase clenches at Koumei’s chest, drowning him in a deluge of flashbacks. Hakuei…she…let Sinbad in. That part of the war will always be the hardest to accept.

His nails dig into splinters. “It’s difficult…when the traitor is _family_ …” Strange, he never told anyone before. But here he is, baring the uncalloused fissures in his heart to someone who shouldn’t be more than a stranger.

It’s embarrassing. What’s with this person that makes you feel like you can open up your hoard of darkness to him and not be burned by the light?

Alibaba seems to notice his agitation, and offers him a rueful smile. “You know, once there was someone who was like a brother to me.”

“What happened?” Koumei dares to ask, forgetting his problems in his curiosity.

“Al Thamen.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” is all he can say. It’s useless comfort, and pathetic in comparison to the articulated discussions he was once known for. Kouen would have known what to do. But Kouen isn’t here. Neither is Kouha.

_Will they be alright?_

Can Kouha take care of their eldest sibling? Can he trust that kid who knows nothing but slicing and dicing things? That swordplay maniac with obsessive tendencies, good for battle and nothing else…

No. His younger brother has grown up. He can trust Kouha. If Kouen can depend on him, then he’ll just have to rely on him, too.

_Don’t worry. They’ll be fine._

It takes a moment to realize that it wasn’t him who spoke that aloud, but Alibaba. This person seems to read him like a book, and three years ago, he would have thought it horrifying.

Now he doesn’t.

Finding someone who understands is a wonderful thing.

Before them, the faded grandeur of Kou awaits; behind them, his brothers struggle on with imprisoned life on the island; and around them, the ocean will soon shine like a multi-faceted gem, sparkling with conflict and peace and brokenness and all the many layers of hope saved in between.

Rakushou is merely hours away. For some reason, the thought no longer terrifies him.

Dawn might be beautiful, after all.

* * *

* * *

 

Months and months later, the looming threat of bankruptcy has been staved off, and with Alibaba back in the capital, Koumei finds a chance to repay the favor granted by a friend, on a junk rig, so many sleepless nights ago.

“Alibaba,” the Chief Strategist says, feeling both awkward and eager at once, “as a token of my gratitude for your unwavering efforts to save my country, I would like to present you with a gift.”

“Really? I’m touched,” he replies, excited to be acknowledged by someone he considers a close ally. “I never expected anything in return…so…is that a…pair of… ** _doves_** _?_ ”

Behind the mask, Koumei’s expression softens into the closest he could get to a smile. He offers an intricate metal cage with two snow-feathered birds inside and explains, “I thought it would be fitting. Doves symbolize peace and long life in our country. For other cultures, they mean unity, prosperity, goodwill, love, fidelity in marriage…”

“M-marriage?” Alibaba repeats, looking as if he had been struck by lightning.

He’s not the only one to react.

“Marriage? Is someone getting married?” someone asks from the other end of the hallway. It’s a feminine voice – an empress’s voice.

And for once, Koumei figures out how to make the perfect smirk.


	3. Obscure (Hakuryuu)

The night is cruel and merciful and bright, and the former emperor wants nothing more than to strike down the great sky orb and send its radiance to the Dark Continent. Lifting weary eyes, he glares from his empty goblet to the vacant tables in disarray to the speckled blankness overhead.

Silver and blue. Silver stuck on blue. _What did you expect?_

He scans the trails of stars, oddly fascinated by how the million pinhole gaps have yet to tear through everything. _But fate has_ , he murmurs, tasting salt and geysers.

If only time would stop. The ageless gong beats on, striking its whimsical cacophony between his ears until he gives in and goes mad a second time.

He fights it.

The cawing and the clapping and the belching thunderbolts come to a halt. He is alone. _Alone_ , save for his weapon and the few items of clothing on his person and the knowledge that Judal is somewhere else and Alibaba proposed to Morgiana and she _accepted_ and he suddenly doesn't look forward to coming home to Kou because home is different and he is different and Morgiana will never love him and now there's nothing left and he's lost.

_Morgiana._

_She's happy,_ he tells himself. In all the years he has known this fanalis girl, her eyes have never sparkled like tonight. And she had never been as beautiful.

Hakuryuu never imagined a broken heart could be so quiet.

* * *

_Maybe I'm crazy, maybe I'm weak_

_Maybe I'm blinded by what I see_

* * *

He's breathing. He still is.

There are two solid iron weights in the hollow of his chest leeching out fitful gasps of air. He rubs the offending lumps away, but they only seem to grow in size, strangling him further. He wonders if this may actually be a side effect of scorpion venom.

He'd rather suffer blood poisoning than this – whatever _this_ is.

Such irony. His farce of a mother had done a fine job ripping up his world; the rest he had taken care of himself. In theory, he shouldn't have to feel a thing. And yet here he is, knuckles white over where his chest is about to explode as his nauseated mind shuttles through image after image of four travellers frolicking under endless sky. There, in that special place, the world is perfect and beautiful and everything he is not right now.

 _She's happy_ , he reminds himself. _They're_ happy. Alibaba is back, alive and healthy for Morgiana and Aladdin to fuss over in this long-overdue reunion. The boy who searched the world for home can settle down at last. The girl who never knew family will finally have one of her own. They're good for each other; the cheering crowd was proof of that. He knows that applause can be one of the most heartbreaking things.

Ah, this is more than he deserves anyway. He thanks his scythe for failing.

But sometimes he asks, what if things were different, what if, what if. Again, this is something he can't blame _that woman_ for.

**_Once you start, there's no turning back. But there are no regrets, right?"_ **

Lies. Having a throne is not everything. Neither is winning a war. Or exacting revenge.

Now he just wishes she said no.

That's all.

The youngest Kou prince rises on flesh and bone feet (they're shaking, but they're _real_ , and he really should thank his stepbrother for that - and apologize, of course) to ponder his next move.

It doesn't take long. There's a time for everything, he knows. Being a former emperor taught him as much.

Now is the time to disappear.

* * *

_You wanted a soldier but it wasn't me_

_Cause I could never set you free_

* * *

Once Hakuryuu was a little boy with sullen eyes and a secret that could uproot an empire. The boy grew up and turned the world upside down, threw away everything, very nearly broke it all, and now his revenge is over.

_At last._

Hands shiver over the woolly fabric of their shared tent as he prepares to exit for good. It's way too late for anyone to notice him sneak out, except perhaps the soon-to-be-wed couple guaranteed to be the talk of the town in the morning. He'll be travelling light; memories are heavy enough to replace the crown his cousin bears now.

It's not in Arba's hands, and that's enough for him.

His country will be okay. Under Kougyoku's leadership, they will surely rise again. Right now, there's no greater warrior in all of Kou besides her.

He made a promise, too. He'll live on to protect his people, even if all that awaits him is darkness.

One step.

One breath.

Repeat.

Time to go.

"Hakuryuu-kun, wait up!"

It's Aladdin. Grown-up, worldly-wise, comrade-in-arms Aladdin.

"You're leaving," the younger boy says. He gazes with those sad, worried eyes, just like all those years ago when his dungeon quest buddy's soul was sealed away. There's empathy in those eyes; he understands, and he's _sorry_.

 _No. You don't know what it's like to lose…_ But he does. Life has coveted too much – his home, his childhood, his best friend, his next best friend, and who knows what else.

"I'll be fine. Please watch over them for me." Hakuryuu tries to smile, really, but his mouth just can't curve without trembling and anyway the teenage magi has an exceptional talent for reading into what goes unsaid.

Aladdin barely manages a nod. Tonight's departure must affect him more than he lets on.

"I will. Take care of yourself. I hope you find who you're looking for."

"Thanks." And the white dragon slips away into the unknowing night.

Wind licks thirstily at his skin. Fire crackles from a few scattered bonfires. There's a pair of lovers perched on a hilltop, no doubt making plans for their future – a future he isn't a part of.

Ah, that hurts.

_You won, Alibaba-dono. Congratulations. Make her happy to the end of her days and I won't breathe another word._

He hurries away. Dawn is fast approaching and he can't stand another goodbye. Faint red stripes start to blur into the horizon, reminding him of a beautiful side ponytail. He shakes his head, forcing those treacherous thoughts away.

For now, a certain elusive magi to track down. And try not to self-destruct in the process.

* * *

_So fly on your own_

_It's time I let you go_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Chapter 314...
> 
> Lyrics taken from "Angel" by Theory of a Deadman


	4. Quicksilver (Judar)

[From: The One and Only Magi of Kou

To: Haniwa

_First draft, recovered as cinders in the fireplace of a hermit's cabin, the contents of which were never found]_

* * *

Once there was someone who would tell me stories. She was a beautiful, powerful woman with braided loops in her hair. She wasn’t my mother.

She is _twisted_ and _ugly_ and the world bows down at her feet.

* * *

I met a girl. Her hair was the sunset, her smile the sunrise, her tears the vast oceans between the stars.

 _I know who you are,_ I told her. _You’re the princess in the story._

She stared and shook her head. _No._

_No?_

She pointed to the half-eaten fruit in her hand. _Real princesses don’t eat peaches_ , she began explaining, baffling even me.  _It reminds them where they come from, and then they’ll never forget_.

Her name was Kougyoku. She was a rather strange girl.

* * *

 

I lived in a castle and in the sky and in the fearful whispers of men.

Everyone, everywhere, would tremble at the sight of the great magi. It was delicious, you know? That pristine horror in the faces of those about to drop dead. They were begging - they were pleading for their lives, but ha! A second was much too long a wait to wipe them off the face of the earth. Yes, I had them begging, and pleading, and they died.

By my hand.

I had never known regret.

* * *

 

I got the royal treatment. There were kings, and _great_ kings, the strongest and most powerful. Surrounding myself with the mighty and the wise, I weighed them on my fingernails and smirked.

They were mine to play with. My prey. And they used me.

This was life.

 _Before_.

* * *

 

I saw you one day. You were a naïve boy. It disgusted me.

And then I laughed.

A king candidate? Seriously? You of all things – naïve, weak, worthless you. How could that chibi possibly choose you?

I really wanted to kill you.

But I also wanted some fun.

(Real monsters play with their food before devouring it.)

* * *

 

I miss Hakuryuu. He was scarred, and broken, and hateful. I grabbed his hand, dragged him to, through, and back to this mess. I wanted out – so did he; together we killed a murderer.

We were exceptional assassins, and dreamers, and fallen. The world itself was too small to split among ourselves.

* * *

 

Do you remember that day? All four of us, we exploded over Rakushou, and two pairs became just two.

I found myself floating, without my partner, with no one, with you. We were lost and loster, stuck together, clobbering monsters. (Okay, you defeated them. I just watched. Who cares?)

I had to find Hakuryuu. You had to find Aladdin. We had to get back. I couldn’t fly and you didn’t have a map.

 _This way,_ you said. _Get walking._

All I wanted was a bath.

* * *

 

I really should have killed you, if only I could. Whether I had my powers back, or a proper sword, or a dungeon beast that followed orders, we both knew it wouldn’t work. Your head would pop back in either way.

I, on the other hand, had to be rescued. Day in and day out, from the food I ate to the monsters who would eat me for food, I was the one in need of saving.

I, the great magi of Kou.

It was a thoroughly humiliating experience.

* * *

 

Things got better afterwards.

I learned to fly again (No thanks to you).

We recruited a dragon (Also, definitely not because of you).

We got back.

* * *

 

Two years had passed.

Two years is too long.

And too short.

* * *

 

I left you behind. The clay doll you and the human you. I left my companion and went off to see the world.

I was fed up. I had to find someone.

I didn’t really know who I was looking for.

Maybe that person looked like me.

* * *

 

I’m here now. And you’re…somewhere.

It’s been a year.

I think I’m hallucinating. I keep seeing dragons, and scythe-wielding princes, and clay dolls.

I wish I could punch you right now.

It’s one of my favorite dreams.

* * *

 

I’m thinking…

(Don’t you dare laugh! Contrary to what your pea-sized brain claims, I _do_ know how to think…sometimes.)

Hey, maybe that redhead was right.

Maybe we were in the wrong story

Maybe I was the black swan

Or the frail geisha

With little trinkets on wounded feet

I don’t remember.

Maybe our names got mixed up

With no one left to reinvent endings

Maybe we lied…once, twice, to get the tale going

I never meant to tell the truth

I never meant…a lot of things

I don’t like vegetables

You know that better than anyone

You also know I can eat them when forced

(Cut it out, I had no choice, alright?)

I know a lot of things now

I also forgot too much

Like, what time should the sky turn red and how does a drizzle sound?

I don’t bother ‘cause no one’s watching

There was no one back then anyway.

But you remember, right?

Those kinds of things–

You accused me of never watching where I was going

(You were right)

You said I had my head in the clouds and my eyes were full of stars.

I was scared I’d never see the sun

The very sun I had grown to hate

You asked if I could stop lying

You saw right through me anyway

But I was afraid

I wished you’d stop saying

the things you wouldn’t say

Or hearing

Everything

* * *

 

Ragdoll–

That’s what I was, too

Couldn’t find my strings

Decided to make my own

Turns out, I ain’t no expert.

.

I should have known.

Like you always did.

Now I’m somewhere

And you’re somewhere else

.

Now what?

I still wander.

Through the sun, through the moon, sucked in, sucked out

And nowhere

Again

* * *

 

I ought to find that pretty girl

Who by now is some real beautiful woman

I bet she’ll cry when she sees my face

I’ll pull her hair loops if she does

Just like before

.

When Hakuryuu shows up, I’ll pat him on the shoulder

I heard he did a good job in Kou before some crazy freak chased him out

Then I’ll beat up that chibi he’s been hanging out with

No way I’m not getting that rematch!

 .

And you…

_Uh._

It’s payback time.

I’m gonna…

_Hmm._

The first thing I’ll do if our paths cross again

(May that never happen)

Is to turn you into a puppet

And dump you into space

And hitch a ride on a dragon

And blow you up into a million pieces

Yes, that’s absolutely perfect

That’s exactly what I’m going to do

.

.

.

Okay, maybe I won’t

You did save me a couple hundred times

I guess I owe you a flask of water

And a dozen lives

And a thousand minutes of carpet rides

And…

Scratch that.

I’ll just say hi

And trade a punch or two

Or simply zap you out of existence

That might be fun.

.

.

.

I’ll look forward to it,

~~Haniwa~~

~~Worthless King Candidate~~

~~Foolish~~

~~Useless~~

~~Waste of space~~

~~Ugh, whatever~~

_Alibaba_


	5. Imprint (Kougyoku)

The peach trees are blooming today.

 _Come,_ they whisper, with the tenacity of childhood and foreign summers, and Kougyoku gives in, stepping away for a rendezvous with the crimson-eyed ghost that haunts this place. Kou has been a flurry of trade agreements and international policies lately, and the young empress needs a break from the endless committee gatherings before she goes insane.

Already her skull is pounding with the results of the morning’s deliberation on some petty matter that, had Kouen or Hakuryuu been in charge, would never have taken three hours to settle. Yes, there would have been no place for latecomers flaunting blatant disregard for authority, pointless debates escalating to shouting matches, general inefficiency, or migraines so strong she’d worry her brain might actually fracture on the spot.  

Barely ten minutes into the meeting, she imagined slicing tongues with chopsticks. Halfway through, fingers flew to red hair in frustration, robbed of the power to summon hail with a mere command. And finally, _finally_ , just when her clenched fists were dying to plunge a sword down all those vicious throats, the main dissenters quieted down and accepted her terms, simply because noon was drawing near, and they were _hungry_.

Yes, because they were _hungry_. Not due to superior logic or exceptional reasoning on Kougyoku’s part, nor any effort of her men, but the plain fact that their empty stomachs could not suffer another moment for the sake of their citizens’ wellbeing. Apparently, even for the very pinnacles of government, the chains of duty are not enough.

Shaking her head, the empress remains in her seat and affixes the royal seal to a handful more documents. It’s become a routine, working on her own long after everyone else has deserted the room. Still, she can’t find it in herself to blame them. Everyone’s doing their best, in their own small way, but the tons of additional workload that came with her decision to sever ties with the International Alliance is just _overwhelming._ Add to that the hours spent planning for “the grandest wedding ceremony ever”, and Kougyoku’s more than ready to quit.

It’s no wonder the former princess disappears into the orchards so often. _Come,_ they call to her, _surrender to nostalgia, escape, forget._

She lets go.

* * *

 

“Come back,” a voice beckons. “Come back home, Kougyoku.”

He says that with typical nonchalance, hinting on arrogance. Whatever concern he may harbor is smoothly masked with aloofness, but his tone is rough and hoarse and undeniably cruel and she sighs in familiarity.

Even if a tornado has just ripped through. And Sinbad’s right hand man is bleeding from the shoulder.

“Come on, let’s return to Kou. I’ll make you a general.”

His words confuse her. Kou is no place for either cowards or failures, and she’s proved to be both. Yet here he is, promising acceptance. She should follow him, grab this rare, undeserved chance, but fear grips her, and freedom, and some unnameable emotion, so right now staring at her feet is the only answer she can give.

He doesn’t throw a fit. Eyes widen, as if she were half expecting him to sweep her up in a storm. But no, he merely casts her one long inscrutable glower before hoisting himself on the west wind. Surprise, surprise, he leaves without a fuss and she’s still in one piece.

In all the years she’s known him, he’s always been proposing the outrageous, and he’d always find ways to make her go along.

_Let’s conquer a dungeon._

_Be my king candidate._

This is the first time in memory that she ever refused him, and the fact that he took it with uncharacteristic calm is unsettling.

The bystanders start gossiping among themselves, and Ka Koubun wastes no time steering away from the place. With the magi long gone and the palace guards seemingly readying themselves for battle, she brushes off her worries about her childhood acquaintance, focusing instead on a rather pitiful attempt to maintain the peace between Sindria and Kou. She’ll ask Judal about it when she gets back.

It doesn’t dawn on her that something is horribly, irrevocably wrong.

* * *

The wind has been reckless for hours. Something’s coming, she knows, and her pulse bounces in anticipation. Gray patches converge overhead and she feels it: the silence before a storm.

She doesn’t like rain.

It brings back too many questions. Should she have taken that hand? Would things have turned out differently? Certainly not, for what has been put into motion couldn’t be reversed by someone as insignificant as she is. But she dreams of it sometimes. She dreams she follows him and he smiles and throws her over the precipice. And she holds on for dear life but those too heavy robes shackle her down with the weight of her failures. So she dies and she dreams and she dies again.

It’s just too messed up. Now, after everything, after he died but did not die, after she should have died but could not die, the world has turned upside down and she finds herself once again at a crossroads. _Where do we go from here?_ everyone asks, and even dear Alibaba-chan doesn’t have all the answers.

It has been a very eventful past month.

* * *

“Judal-chan?”

It feels like déjà vu. A young man blazes into the scene, dancing with invisible feathers, commanding attention with a few suave words as his piercing eyes strike fear and wonder in the hearts of peasants and royalty alike. Except he’s strolling in this time, without the usual spectacle announcing his entrance, and the audience happens to be a grand total of four individuals filling out invitations for a wedding ceremony.  

“S’up?” he says, as if going missing for three and a half years was the most normal thing in the world.

There’s so much to ask. Too much, even. The gap stretches out wide and deep. _War. Losing it. A changing world. Becoming empress. Establishing a trading company. Facing Sinbad. Moving on. Surviving._ For what has changed besides everything?

Same clothes, same impossibly long braid, same wine-colored eyes. But some of the edge is off -- his presence doesn’t give her the jitters; she doesn’t feel the urge to run away. His aura isn’t as unstable as before, as if he’s made peace with a part of himself that no one ever knew.

She barely registers that even Alibaba goes rushing forward, looking pretty much like a fool who got his hands on a gold mine. She probably has the silliest expression on her face right now.

He’s back. Really, truly, finally. Time for a reckoning.

Or maybe, a new beginning.

* * *

_He’s allergic to everything but peaches and black_

_He’s a boy who wants light to die and suns to burn up_

_And he’s coming home._


	6. Illusory (Morgiana)

Once, she was called the dancing fanalis girl. Now, she is known as Morgiana, bride-to-be of the former prince and former prime minister, currently the proud founder of his own trading company. And she latches on to him, desperate leech that she is, screaming out _“Here, this is it. This is home and this is where I belong, here with Alibaba-san; there is nowhere else I’d rather be”_ and she says it with certainty, for has she not travelled the world and never once found even the remotest mirage of home anywhere? Surely it is here, where the soft sigh of home dwells, where the creeping tendrils of one’s soul reach down and anchor every fleeting impulse deep and deeper, into the ground, the walls, the ceiling, the very breath that enfolds a four-walled abode. Surely it is here, where the nauseous desert and wilderness of sky converge, pulling her down, tenterhooks everywhere, calm and thunder, serene and lightning, and the flashes of amber beneath that perfectly blonde hair. This is home, and the girl who could imagine that distant, shapeless warmth eluding her all the heartbeats she’s ever known, grasps at it with all her might, half out fear it would all fade away once more, begging - yes, _begging_ it not leave her frozen in the dark ever again. She promises to stay, as long as it stays, too.

And so, she doesn’t budge an inch.

But in the back of her mind, there’s another storm, as fierce as it is beautiful, and the little girl in her wants to go out and play in the rain, to bask in that sensation of running and flying and screaming and forgetting the divide between dead and alive. It calls to her, a broken longing, to jump and to fall and be found again. It takes the form of a scar and a scythe and brooding eyes that pierce through all the way to memories of home she never realized could ever exist. And it sounds like, it sounds like…

_Waves lapping on the shore at sunset._

Yes, that sound.

It sounds like an empire creaking and the insanity behind this revolution. It sounds like a sword almost plunging into one’s heart and her rushing to stop the broken man before her before she even realizes what sort of feeling would spur her limbs to such action. It sounds like, _“You’re wonderful”_ and _“Be my queen”_ and then, _“Goodbye.”_

It scares her.

There are two hands reaching out; there is fire and there is night, and she wants both, she wants neither, she wants only one, she wants home, she wants, she wants…

Warm fingers grip hers, slowly encircle them, gently guiding her to a dance. She smiles and walks into the fire. She doesn’t let go. 

She doesn’t let go as the dragon vanishes into the night. She tells herself that this is what she wanted, this is home, and she is happy, and she tells herself that the desperate vacuum in her soul is merely the aftermath of playing with lightning.

No, she doesn’t dream of white dragons with typhoon eyes. No, there’s no reason for the warmth of the hearth to feel so cold. No, she’s not lying.

And yet…

_Why?_


	7. Haze (Kouen)

You feel it in a leaking roof and heavy breaths. You learn fake bones, eating away at your mind. You’re older and you’re weaker now, void of the familiar presence of those blue vaporous beings who once called you king.

You’re Ren Kouen, exiled and fading.

Night descends swiftly, greeting you with dreams of charred corpses and fiery towers and poisoned smoke. You wake up with shadows under your eyes. Koumei’s footsteps pad around the room, almost silent but not quite, and for a second you mistake the dust under his broom for ashes.

You lie back, mapping water stains in the ceiling, and let the incessant squawks of gulls mock your grief.

You’ve always known those roaring flames were just the beginning. Of life with a she-monster whose face could turn men to stone. Of your puppet father playing into her puppeteer hands. Of watching the whole court gyrate to her every whim with the gracefulness of a crumpled leaf. Day and night her coquettish laughter fills the courtyard, and you hate her, _you hate her_ , you hate this masked black widow spinning her web of double-faced silk with the palace at the epicenter and threads that sink into the farthest reaches of the world.

It gets harder and harder to protect what’s left.

That day when Kougyoku parades through the courtyard with the sea’s powers coiled in her ruby locks, you can’t help thinking, what if, a decade ago, all that water could have stopped the fire. _They could still be alive, they could still be alive_ , but you know they wouldn’t, because their mother is the most cunning monster to ever walk the earth. So you swallow it all, your hate, your pride, your thirst for revenge, and make your home among monsters.

One day you meet a boy from Balbadd. He’s a prince and he’s a slave (for a gladiator is essentially a warrior in chains) and he asks you why you live like this.

You answer. He’s naïve, yes he is, yet beneath that inexperience, you can tell he’s made of stronger stuff. He’s no diamond, certainly not, but he won’t crack either. So you invite him to the glamorous pretense of your life.

 _Be my right-hand man_ , you command, and he accepts. He’ll marry Kougyoku.

You begin to plan for war.

A great battle awaits, the worst and bloodiest ever in Kou history. The fate of an entire nation is at stake. Should you win? Can you? Kou is split in two, in three. You and Gyokuen’s ghosts and Hakuryuu. Turns out there’s another player, the King of Sindria. (When you first met on the outskirts of Magnostadt, you knew that he could be the one to ruin your plans.) In an unexpected twist of events –Hakuei _betrayed_ you…betrayed…betrayed _you_ \-- Sinbad turns the tide of battle in his favor. He brings the mighty forces of Kou to their knees and defeats you all. Hakuryuu doesn’t have a clue.

They say your life flashes before you in your last moments. You’re the exception. Even with Hakuryuu’s sword nicking your throat, you only see _them_. Their deaths that should never have been, those you could not protect.

Time resets.

Long ago, there was a great fire in the palace and you died. You died, yes you did, but you did not die and you had to live and now you’re not dead either.

All that remains is the clapping of sandals on termite-infested floorboards, the acknowledgement of here and now. Fish for breakfast, fish in the heat of midday, fish to salute the twilight. Smoked fish, fried fish, steamed fish, burned fish. Your taste buds crave the memory of lamb and mutton, but all you see are slimy finned creatures that your defected magi abhorred with such passion.

It doesn’t matter, you think, as you watch your brothers ladle out thin moringa soup like some annual delicacy. A refugee’s life suits them better than you expected. They seem – dare you say it – content with their lot, at least for now.

Winds are ever changing. Yellow blooms into your vision, curry and egg yolk atop a youth’s head. _It’s nice to meet a familiar face,_ you tell him _, but you’re three years too late!_

He laughs. He calls you an old geezer and you whack him on the leg with your cane.

 _I’m not dead yet_ , you grit out, and you believe it this time.

The gross clamor of sea gulls picks up again. You ask him if he can come up with a foolproof technique to shut them up for good. He stares at you as if you’ve lost it.

A chuckle escapes your lips. You just figured something out, something important, something you’ve seen in Koumei, in Kouha, in everyone but yourself.

You feel it in the harsh breeze, in the breakers resounding on the pebble-strewn shore.

_Living doesn’t sound too bad after all._


	8. Blacklight (Alibaba, Kougyoku)

They rouse her in the middle of the night to break the news.

He’s gone, they tell her.

No.

It can’t be.

_Lies._

“I’m sorry for your loss, Princess, but this is war. You must be strong, for the men depend on you.”

“Strong? Strong?!!”  she shrieks into the collective apathy of the generals’ headquarters. Heads turn; _you can’t break down here, you can’t break down here, they’re watching your every move, pull yourself together –_ “Yes! I am strong! We are the invincible soldiers of Kou! And we shall prove ourselves on the battlefield tomorrow!”

Resulting applause renders her deaf. With one final reassurance of success, she thanks the commanders for their dedication and exits the tent.

She said her piece; she did not have a meltdown.

Judal-chan is dead. Alibaba-chan is dead. Hakuryuu has gone mad and blood will be shed as Kou self-destructs the next day.

She does not sleep all night.

When morning comes, the eighth princess of Kou rides into battle and her men remark that she is strong. 

* * *

 A hit here, a thrust there, and men fall. People are _dying._

Kougyoku kills, and kills, and kills. And in her mind, Alibaba is dead. Alibaba is dead.

_I don’t want anyone else to die._

Kougyoku fights, and fights, and fights. And in the end, too many, many people are dead.

She tells herself that she has lost everything worth living for.

* * *

 

* * *

 No.

This can't be real.

_What’s going on?_

“Let’s return to the rukh together. Everyone can finally be happy. There will be no more wars, no hardships, no sadness. Come join us, Alibaba, and be reunited forever with all your loved ones.”

He’s horrified to hear his master’s words. Then Yamuraiha repeats it, Pisti, Muu, Titus, Koumei, Ka Koubun.

_This is wrong. You wanted to protect your country. You wanted your people to live._

The day turns out to be a nightmare beyond imagination. Aladdin is alright, and he hasn’t spoken with Morgiana or Hakuryuu, but as for everyone else --

_Kougyoku. No. Please._

He makes a run for the palace.

“Alibaba-chan!” she greets him as he slams through the doors, out of breath. “I’m glad you came! There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you all morning! It’s about our plans for our negotiations with Kina.”

It takes all his strength not to sag to the floor in relief. _She’s alright, I don’t know how, but she’s alright—_

“It is no longer a concern.” She smiles, brighter than he’s seen in weeks--as bright, even, as his memories of her picking flowers in Sindria.

“There’s no need to bother about any of this. For we shall all return to the rukh!” Kougyoku sheds a couple of happy tears, like she’s prone to do when very sad or very happy, and the knowledge that she is neither for her true self is locked away makes Alibaba weep.

* * *

 A city of strangers, world of mind-controlled slaves committed to throw their lives away. He can’t persuade them, not his former sword trainer, not his fanalis companion; each and every soul would rather embrace their doom. He’s going to lose them, this world that they fought so hard to protect, this country they worked so hard to build up. He watches in unveiled frustration as Kougyoku sings Sinbad’s praises before the adoring crowd. He hears the cheering; he sees Muu shake hands with the new master of the rukh and he forces himself to turn away.

He feels betrayed.

Aladdin stands close by, without a doubt equally disheartened by the turn of events. But what can they do – what _should_ they do? There’s only one obvious way to put an end to this, and that is to stop Sinbad himself.

For a fleeting second, he thinks of his parents and wonders if he should just give up and join them. Things would be much easier that way. If all those under Sinbad’s influence proceed with their planned mass suicide, then he’ll be left alone again.  Unless Sinbad destroys him, of course, and judging by the latter’s actions recently, he won’t be surprised if it comes to that. He thinks of Kassim. Mariam. His  other agemates in the slums. The people he met, the people he _loved._

 _I love this world_ , Aladdin told him once. So does he.

The crowd quiets down to listen to Sinbad speak. Alibaba catches a glimpse of those cunning eyes and clenches his fists. Beside Sinbad is Sharrkan, beside him is Kougyoku, eyes unfocused, hypnotized by the rukh’s enchantment.

 _Enough_ , he decides. _I’ll get them back_. _No one’s going back to the rukh against their will._ He glances at Aladdin, the only other sane person in this horrendous mess – he isn’t sure about Hakuryuu and Judal and at this point he’s almost afraid to hope – and the slightly shorter boy nods.

_The fight for this world has begun._

 


	9. Prunus Persica (Hakuryuu, Judar)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hakuryuu, Judal, and peaches

"Can you see?"

_No._

He shakes his head.

"But can you see _me_?"

He looks up.

And thinks.

"You're a mess."

The prince laughs.

* * *

"So, you plan on killing anyone?"

Pause.

Ponder.

"Not yet."

* * *

"Hakuryuu! I forgot something."

"You forgot breakfast."

"I did _not_."

"Is that so? Then, pray tell me, what

did you have this morning?"

"Peaches."

"How many?"

He holds up three fingers.

"That's not breakfast."

* * *

"Enough of those peaches.

You'll eat yourself sick

and stomachaches

don't become you."

Eyes narrow.

"I never get those."

A sigh.

"You and your peaches."

"What's wrong?"

Slurp.

Slurp.

S

L

U

R

P

"They looooove me."

"A bit delusional, aren't we?"

The magi shrugs.

"Your words, not mi-"

C

R

U

N

C

H

Boots stride away,

return.

"Should I be jealous?"

He takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully.

"Yeah.

You should."

* * *

 Hakuryuu decides to indulge the magi, for once.

"Alright, I'll buy you some later."

But all he _really_ wants is to get rid of

this distraction and get back to work.

Judal shakes his head.

"Silly Hakuryuu.

"You don't buy peaches.

You steal them."

* * *

 "The Oracle has official

duties to tend to,"

the servant boy explains.

Hakuryuu nods,

barely hearing what is said.

"Judal! Clean up afterwards!

We don't want ants

all over the room!"

A half-eaten peach plops

down from the roof and

rolls to a stop at his feet.

"Go away!"

* * *

 "Ready?"

"What, don't I look like it?"

"You look  _hungry_."

"…that can wait for later."

Gyokuen dies.

* * *

 

"Judal, you fool. How could you leave just like that?

The fire rises, the smoke climbs,

and there's no magi to pounce from the sky.

* * *

"You're not dead."

The magi says nothing, does nothing,

except tack another sloppy bitemark on his peach.

"Would you believe I held

a funeral for you?"

"Uh-hum. Heard it was

the grandest thing _ever_.

Fit for a king, even."

He swings his other leg over the branch and sits up.

Wild cherry eyes peer down at the king candidate,

who returns the stare with a glower of his own.

Solemn, confused, relieved, and-dare he imagine-

_hurt._

Judal throws the peach away.

"Heh? What kind of logic is that?

You're the king. Not me."

Hakuryuu does not laugh this time.

"Not anymore."

He _smiles_ , and that in itself is a travesty.

* * *

"Come on. We have to go."

"Whatever for? Can't we just

hang out her for, say,

 _forever_?"

"You're bored here.

Admit it, having

too little drama

just kills you."

He gets up.

"You know me too well."

"Of course."

"Whatever. I'm running out of peaches anyway."

* * *

 

"Shall we?"

"You just want an excuse to see

that fanalis girl. I have no idea

what you see in her. Figured

you'd be sick of all the redheads

of that dead old man already."

"You mean Kougyoku?"

"I mean all of them."

* * *

 

"Judal."

"I know, I know. I'll get

the transport circles ready.

Just give me a minute, okay?"

"Thanks. You won't regret this."

"Yeah, enough with the sap.

Just remember when we

get back to give me-"

"Peaches, right?"

Judal frowns.

"Yeah, peaches. Sure."


	10. Mirage (Alibaba, Kougyoku)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timetravel AU for Murasakihime

_“Everything that happens stays inside you. Even if you can’t remember it.” ~ Zeniba in **Spirited Away**_

* * *

Dreams come when they shouldn’t, dreams of rice paddy frogs and shrimp spilling over little muddy feet. At least, that’s what she thinks they are.

Seamless yellow dust materializes like a billowing sheet. She’s standing on a—a sand dune. It slopes upward, moving and unmoving, forged of wind and solid fire in the epicenter of one vast powdered ocean.

Her lips are cracked. This place is as thirsty as she is, and more desperate. Heat laps at her feet, dragging sweat down her back unrepentantly. Her palms shrivel, her legs cramp, her head spins; the sun knows no mercy and she cannot order it to back off.

In this shapeless furnace of sand clouds and cloudless skies, a figure moves toward her.

It’s a boy.

* * *

 The noise of a crumbling dungeon reverberates along the walls of Sinbad’s stolen domain.

Something’s wrong with the rukh, and the consequences span beyond brainwashing-induced worldwide suicide. The tiny firefly-bird things zip back and forth, agitated by some unseen force that trickles from the ceiling of the Sacred Palace. _What’s going on—_ flashes in Alibaba’s mind as he is whisked away from Zepar’s presence to meet up with his comrades.

“The universe is squirming,” the magi replies.

He didn’t say that aloud, did he?

Hakuryuu squints – _oh, so that was meant for Hakuryuu_ – and tries to pinpoint that huge distortion in time-space that got Judar looking unusually sober.

“Over there!”

There’s a small bubble—a growing bubble—a _huge_ bubble of something dipping downward from the whirlwind of glowing sparrows.

“What is that?” Hakuryuu asks.

The bubble flickers and morphs into a shimmering oval. A mirror? No, a pool. An illusion of some sort. Prismatic light converges right above the surface like an upside-down waterfall. The ripples clear to reveal sweeping roofs and bamboo fences, grinning stone dragons in a fall of ginko leaves.

A mirage.

Dumbfounded, Alibaba raises one finger to the image hovering above them.

It lunges at him.

* * *

 Alibaba wakes up to burn scars and sullen, mismatched eyes.

“Hakuryuu?”

The dark-haired prince doesn’t answer right away. Alibaba wonders how the lanterned hallways seem to swallow up his friend’s figure, and why the puckered flesh around his eye looks more ragged than usual.

“Do I know you?” asks the boy who is about three haniwas tall, in a voice too girly for comfort. Alibaba inspects Hakuryuu’s hands and feet, compares them with his own, and concludes that his fellow dungeon conqueror has shrunk.

Somehow—he blames that anomalous blob thing for this—he’s seeing a flashback of Hakuryuu’s childhood, and the Five Dragons Screen right ahead belongs to the northern entrance of the recently constructed _Hall of Benevolence_ of the Imperial Palace.

And if he’s in Kou, then somewhere around here should be—

“HIMEGIMI!” someone shrieks-shouts-screams, “Where on earth are you?”

He doesn’t have to turn to recognize the huffing mess as a panicking Ka Koubun. A slightly younger Ka Koubun, in fact.

_So Hakuryuu’s not the only one who de-aged, huh? Or maybe I’m just stuck in the past or…_

Stuck in the past…stuck in the past…

Stuck.

 _Okay._ Deep breath. Three fingers.

One, he’s on a race against time to figure a way out of this mystical place and prevent a universal genocide from occurring.

Two, he needs to stay out of sight before the guards get their hands on him.

Three, since he’s here already, he might as well catch a glimpse of the Kou siblings in their childhood. Maybe he’ll even get to see Kouen without a beard.

Or a cuter version of Koumei.

Or, yeah, _Kouen minus the beard._

That would be fun.

* * *

 The boy looks at her. His features resemble Alibaba’s, about a decade and half younger.

“Alibaba-chan?”

_It is him, right? He’s got the same hair, the same eyes, the same—_

“Who are you, Onee-chan?” says the boy to the lady who is not yet his friend.

For he does not know her. He does not recognize the girl who wiped her tears with his handkerchief, who beat up a monster for hurting him, who mourned his death for three years, who swam through an enormous library with him by her side.  She is neither princess nor empress nor even Kougyoku in his sight.

The stranger from the future gently pats the boy’s child-sized shoulder. It’s thin and bony. _Malnourished_. There are bruises in his arms, and she’s certain the moving brown dot plowing through gold strands is one of many itchy lice nesting in his dirty hair. Very gently, she takes his two scabbed hands and trembles with this newfound knowledge of what her best friend has gone through.

“Where do you live, little boy?”

“In the slums.” He pulls away, curious and suspicious at once, and the reflex action is so similar to how she envisions an Alibaba who has not yet learned to wear his masks.

“What is your name, Onee-san?” he asks again, as if her name were the key to his trust.

“I’m…I’m a friend.”

“Tomo-da-chi?” he repeats, face scrunched up with despair. Something she said must have triggered a memory, and now he’s on the verge of a breakdown.

 _Please don’t cry,_ she wants to tell him, but her voice hitches. The Alibaba she knew never flaunted his sorrows; she won’t burden him with her tears, either.

So she hugs him instead. The boy stiffens for a moment before a flood of heart-rain dissolves into her shoulder.

“Ha...hu…so…sorry…”

She’s not good at this, not good at comforting, and especially not good at _hugging_ people. Dead mothers don’t embrace their daughters; neither do court-appointed guardians or the hundreds of palace staff whose names disappeared from the roster before she could commit them to memory. Judar’s solution to her sobbing fits was to pester her till she’d convulse with laughter.

 “It’s okay. It’s okay.” She’s wiping tears like their lost mothers would have, if they _could have_ done, slowly rubbing his back until the volcano in him calms down.

Once the spasms have gone, he pulls away, scrubbing redness and amorphous salt. She notices the fading ash-blue mark on his cheek and forgets that her robes are damp with snot, preferring to smooth out the wrinkles on his shirt, counting rips and the cost of her own lavish wardrobe. He mumbles an apology for the brine-soaked cloth.

Kougyoku shakes her head. “Oh, this? This is nothing.” _I would gladly sell my finest robes so no child would have to beg for a mother’s love ever again._

She knows what’s coming next. He’ll tell her that his mother is dead and that he has no real home to speak of. He’ll talk about his brother and his sister who he cannot care for because he is too young to look after himself. And she wishes she has learned enough, has become strong _enough_ , to grant him the answers that only seem to come from dreams or ancient people.

For now, she gives him silence.

* * *

 Kouen’s face is clean-shaven. It makes him look a little less Kouen-like.

He left Hakuryuu at one of the northeast corridors. Much as he wants to offer comfort and company, something in the despondent set of the younger prince’s jaw tells Alibaba it’s not his place to pry.

So far, he hasn’t encountered any of the creeps of Al Thamen (except Judar, who he stopped counting as one of them a long time ago) and he sincerely hopes he never will. He spotted the magi a while back, and immediately ducked behind a vat of fermented rice. He doesn’t know how well-versed the kid is in dimensional stuff at that age, but instinct warns him to stay hidden.

“Oi, Old Hag, where are you? I want my peaches now!” he whines.

_Really, Judar, you know she hates it when you call her that._

He finds Kougyoku in the garden watching butterflies. A plop of salmon fabric and wind-blown petals in the diving sun, a sniffle, and he knows the person before him is princess who chases stars at noon.

“You’re always crying,” he says and settles down on the grass, awaiting her reaction. _It must be scary to hear that from someone she’s never met._

She gasps and faces him with wet seashell eyes. He smiles.

 “Y-you are?”

“A cricket-catcher.” He doesn’t know what made him say that, but crickets come with dreams, right? And isn’t that what all this is? One strange, peaceful, dream of childhood within a dream of death. Maybe the stress of rewritten destiny has gotten to him, but now all he wants is to relax with an old friend and pretend the lives of millions won’t vanish at sundown.

But this Kougyoku doesn’t know all this. This Kougyoku doesn’t even know him.

“Eh?” She rubs her eyes, letting the last of her tears water the damask rose patterns of her dress.

“Hold on a second.” He gets up and begins kicking at a clump of weeds. Before long, something jumps, and he runs after it. With careful maneuvering and swift reflexes, he captures the bouncing insect and presents it to his companion.

“Here. I caught a grasshopper.” If this were any other princess, he’d have smacked himself in the head by now. A squirming pest is hardly a proper token of friendship for a young lady, but, he reminds himself, this is the woman who silenced a crowd of nearly a million.

“Th-thank you.” She gingerly reaches for the unconventional gift, firm enough to prevent it from escaping as it pushes against her thumb with its strong hind legs, yet careful to keep from squishing it. It’s a tricky balance, and reddish-brown liquid stains her knuckles in the struggle, but she doesn’t let go.

“Eewww.”

He laughs. _Yup, that’s our Kougyoku alright_. “You’re not afraid?”

“No. I think it’s cute.”

She studies it for a minute longer before releasing it and discretely wiping her fingers on a dry leaf. A serene breeze flutters over them, filling his heart with all things serene and nostalgic, and neither of them feels the urge to leave. He lies down and lets his eyelids fall.

Minutes pass before he hears her speak. “Ne, Cricket-catcher-san, are you a nice person?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you have friends?”

“Yes.”

“ _Many_ friends?”

“Yes, I do have many acquaintances. It’s a side-effect of travelling so much.”

“Oh.” She sighs again, a year’s worth of loneliness in one breath, so very, _very_ similar to one of his own. Back when he was a brat getting lost in the palace. Back when dungeons and metal vessels were a faraway dream and Sinbad was the most splendid creature in existence and the fate of the world had not yet dumped itself on his half-broken shoulders.

“I wish I were like you,” she continues. “No one but Judar-chan and Ka Koubun ever talks to me. Everyone thinks my mother is a very bad person and I’m bad, too, because I’m her daughter.”

He gets it. This is the tragedy of the palace. It’s a place where little girls learn to put on dragon faces and little boys are taught the murderous art of hierarchy. But Kougyoku will survive, as he did.

_When this is over, I’m taking her on a dragonfly hunt. And then we’ll go fishing. Ka Koubun’s the bait._

_Yeah, let’s do that._

“Kougyoku?” he calls, tentative, hopeful, seeking assurance that they’ll meet again, that the tag team of magi and king candidates will win this battle and those to come.

“Y-yes! How-how did you know my name?”

“It’s easy. You’re dressed like royalty. That makes you one of the princesses, and all I had to do was guess your age and recall the name of the youngest.” He’s lying. He’d know her anywhere, even without that trademark hairstyle. “Listen, I have something I must face, and people I must save. They depend on me, so I must be brave for them. I can’t give up, not now, not even when everything seems hopeless. Promise me when the time comes, you’ll do the same. Let’s be strong together, okay?”

He plucks a handful of clover flowers and drops them on her lap. She stares, and thinks. Soon her smile widens and she beams at him. “Okay!”

He hears the rumbling of gongs in the distance. The sound vanishes, and so does everything else.

* * *

 The light grows weak as they navigate the shanties, fingers intertwined. Who’s escorting who, she isn’t sure.

“I’m running away,” he declares.

She’s torn between encouraging him to return and wanting to praise him for his boldness.

He keeps talking, little words and outbursts that frame the story of his life. “I heard the guards. They were laughing. ‘Why go through all this trouble to retrieve an _illegitimate_?’ They were right. The king has two sons already. He doesn’t need me.”

“Don’t you want to meet your father?”

“Why should I?! My father _abandoned_ us.”

“But--”

“I DON’T WANT TO! I hate him! I just want to be with Kassim and Mariam! This is where I live! This is my home! Kassim told me to go, but he doesn’t understand! I CAN’T! I don’t belong there!”

She understands. She knows how he will be treated. He will suffer pain, rejection, isolation. She wants to spare him the heartbreak, but she also knows that, had the situation been reversed, he wouldn’t coddle her. She knows what she must do.

She stops walking.

Alibaba feels the tug of the hand gripping his own and spins to face her. “What’s the matter, Nee-san? Are you alright? Ah, I’m sorry I shouted at you! Please forgive me!”

Kougyoku isn’t hurt. She isn’t sad, even. She’s reliving her past, hearing her own pleading, frightened self before time and trials forced her to toughen up.

What would she say to that little girl?

_Keep going._

_You’ll make it._

_Hold on._

_Don’t run._

“Ask him,” she advises.

“Huh?”

“You want to know, right? Ask him if he really loves you. Ask him why he abandoned you. Talk to him, _please_ , while you have the chance.” _While he’s still alive. While he still cares. While he still recognizes you as his son._ “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine. You’re strong enough.”

“I’m not,” he says, struggling with reddening eyes.

“You can do it. I believe in you.”

“What if I won’t be able to come back? I won’t see Kassim and--”

“Oh, you will. You’ll surely come back. You’ll see him again. I promise.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do,” she says, winks, and tries not to make a fool of herself. Alibaba does that often; maybe it will do the trick.

Confusion, grief, and resolve tumble around in his eyes. Finally, he straightens up and makes his decision. He’ll be visiting the king of Balbadd after all.

“Alright. I’ll be going, then. See you!”

“See you, Alibaba-chan. Take care!”

The desert swallows him up.

* * *

 The empress is awake, yet not _awakened_. The chains of whitewashed rukh jingle on her wrists and blind her, and she cannot feel them, and she cannot break free.

There is a sound somewhere. There is a memory she needs to remember.

_Someone._

* * *

“Oi! Ha-ni-Alibaba!”

The vision has ended; Alibaba is pulled back from the vivid trance with a stinging blow to his face, courtesy of Judar-the-most-insufferable-magi-ever. He wonders if he should wonder why he’s the one Judal singles out for this abuse.

“Heeey! Stop. Slap. Ping. Me! Creepy Magi!”

“Worthless Brat!”

“Potato Monster Feed!”

“Love-struck Glob!”

“Whiny!”

“Annoying!”

“Useless!”

“Weak!”

“You’re awake,” states Hakuryuu, amused by their bickering. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. I was dreaming, I think? I don’t remember anything,” is Alibaba’s groundbreaking explanation.

“Look, Weirdo, it’s almost sunset. No time for slacking around,” Judar cuts in and an epic glaring match commences.

“Hah! You can’t beat me this time! You’re not a haniwa anymore!” the magi taunts, resorting to old tactics because Alibaba _is_ Alibaba, and the Haniwa Boy he knows can stare for three days straight without blinking.

“You're gonna lose! You're gonna lose!" he chants. "Ha-ni-ba-ka!"

“I won’t lose, you hear me?”

“Just give up!”

“Never!”

“Ever?”

“Ever!”

Hakuryuu shakes his head, deeming it best not to interrupt the little squabble. _When this is over,_ he muses aloud, _we’re hiring a new babysitter. Maybe Nerva can be trusted to keep an eye on these two?_


	11. Avant (Alibaba, Kougyoku)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kougyoku learns to ride a bike and rickshaw-racing becomes an international craze. Canon compliant, as usual

_"Financial report from the tenth southeast region, comprised of the provinces of Wang, Talu, Sung, and Yunhua. Addressed to Her Majesty, Empress Ren Kougyoku._

_"Greetings to Her Highness!_

_"Your Excellency, we regret to inform you of a number of setbacks in the economic recovery program as of late. Our office has been receiving numerous complaints of fresh produce arriving at the market in undesirable condition due to poorly constructed provincial roads and insufficient wagons to transport the sheer volume of raw material from farm to market._   _Travel by sea has lessened due to the monsoons, and reports of sky pirate attacks have become more frequent. The result is increased activity at the transport circles. Unfortunately, our supply of magoi cannot keep up with the demand. Many of our staff have fallen ill from working to exhaustion._

_"It may prove beneficial to strengthen our ties with Magnostadt in the near future, though such a venture would require a considerable amount of gold. The best alternative is to empower the current research facility to produce farming implements and upgraded vehicles to assist the local economy."_

The tired empress reads through the next twenty paragraphs of hastily scribbled kanji, making note of the points to bring up in the next council meeting. Koumei has gone to survey business prospects in the outskirts of the capital, leaving Kougyoku to sift through mounds of paperwork on her own. She continues skimming through a couple more documents until a visitor arrives.

"Your Majesty! The Director of Research requests an audience."

She sighs and sets down the papers on the table. "Let him in."

The door watcher bows and calls in three men, who fumble through the door dragging a cloth-covered frame. One of them, the head researcher, steps forward to say his piece.

"Your Highness, I would like to present our newest invention! Guaranteed to cut down travel time by half, behold, the  _self-operated mechanically-powered magoi-conserving rickshaw_!" With a firm tug, he draws open a curtain to reveal an assembly of two iron cartwheels, a yoke for oxen, rotating stirrups, and a cart hitched to the back.

"The _what_?" And Alibaba enters just in time to witness the groundbreaking innovation.

"You put your two feet on both stirrups and make a circular motion, as if you were milling rice. This makes the wheels turn, and all you must do is keep grinding forward while maintaining your balance. With this contraption, we can improve the courier system, decrease travel time, increase rate of production, cut off additional expenses such as stables and hired help, and redirect manual labor to the agricultural and manufacturing sectors, where it is most needed. Maintenance is fairly cheap, and will lessen the burden on the transport circles, as well as decongest the four major routes connecting the sea port to trading centers inland. If we deploy even a mere hundred of these units to strategic areas, the effects will be felt in the capital proper within a month."

"Hey, that sounds cool!" Alibaba exclaims. "What do you think, Kougyoku? Wanna give it a try?" He sends her that conspiratorial wink that in her experience could only signal the stirrings of mischief.

In other words,  _fun_. Which is just what Kougyoku needs to counteract all the stress of the morning. Perfect.

"Alright. How does it work?" she inquires, already preparing to descend the dais.

"It's quite easy, Your Highness," says the old director, and his eyes sparkle. "All you have to do is…"

* * *

The passing hour finds Kougyoku in the courtyard recovering from a bruise on her shin.

Alibaba was the first to ride that infernal vehicle. He wobbled and very nearly crashed into the wall a couple of times, but after a few attempts, he figured out how to turn without falling over. It was after his tenth lap between skywells that Kougyoku decided it was time to give it try.

With Alibaba's help and the inventor's careful instructions, Kougyoku manages to settle herself on the seat, robes and all, and then she slips one foot into a stirrup, and then the other, and then….

"Kougyoku!"

"Your Highness!"

"Someone help her!"

 _So. Not as easy as it looks_ , she thinks, wiping dust off her clothes and elbow as Alibaba and company haul her up from the spot where she has landed sideways on adobe.

"Kougyoku, are you alright?" he asks, gently lifting her to her feet.

"I'm fine," she sputters, more shocked than anything else, and that's when she notices the trickle of red staining her hemline.

"Your Highness! You're bleeding!"

"It's just a scratch," she assures Ka Koubun, who looks ready to murder the vehicle's creator. "I'll call the physician to treat it."

Just a scratch, she claims, but Alibaba is full of regrets. "I'm sorry, Kougyoku. I shouldn't have let go so soon. And now you fell because I wasn't careful."

"It's alright. Don't worry, Alibaba-chan. I'll rest for a while and then I'll try again."

Try again means stalling and crashing and falling into Alibaba as he helps her balance five layers of heavy silk  _and_ herself on a shaky metal frame. It means screaming and yelping and scolding a machine for refusing to cooperate.

“Kougyoku, are you—”

"I'll keep trying!” she snaps. “Even if it takes me ten dozen tries to learn this! I won't stop until I make it to a hundred meters on this thing!" she declares, though up to now all she gets for her efforts are darkening bruises on her wrists and legs. Alibaba no longer holds on to the vehicle; she has proved herself capable of launching and halting on her own, but that doesn't stop her from having veering sharply and nearly falling over every few seconds. So far she's progressing at a rate of five paces a minute.

Walking would have been faster. But a small crowd has gathered to encourage her, and she can't let them down. If Kou's own empress can't tame this thing, then how can they expect the common folk to do it?

"Come on, you can do it Kougyoku! Don't give up! To one hundred!" Alibaba starts to chant as she slowly, slowly inches forward, and the guards and officials present follow suit.

"One hundred! One hundred!"

"One hundred! Baek! Baek!" ( **A/N** :  _"Baek" means "hundred" in Korean_ )

"Take care, Your Majesty!" Ka Koubun cheers her on as she attempts yet again to cross from one end of the courtyard to the other. "Don't let that thing defeat you!"

"Do your best, Your Highness!"

"You can do it!"

"Go! Go! Baek! Baek! Baek!"

"Keep going, Kougyoku! You're almost there!"

"I'm tryyyyyiiiinngggg!" Sweat pours out, concentration –  _this is war, remember, and we're gonna win it_  – and then she completes a full turn. And another. And the next.

"Yes! You did it! Way to go, Kougyoku!"

"All hail the empress!"

"ALL HAIL EMPRESS KOUGYOKU!"

She wheels toward where the officials are standing and slowly gets off. Alibaba and two men assist her with the ridiculous amount of fabric that somehow got snagged by the machine and she offers everyone a grateful smile as another round of applause commemorates her success.

"So," she says, still panting for breath, "what should we name this invention?"

Because  _self-operated mechanically-powered something-something rickshaw_  is a mouthful and no one could possibly remember that.

One of them, the most senior adviser of all, steps forward with a suggestion. "If Her Majesty would accept my humble proposal, why don't we call it a 'baek'! In memory of the Empress' unconquerable spirit!"

"Why yes, that's a good idea! That would certainly help encourage those who choose to participate in this project. Even if they fall over and over again while learning to ride it, they must never, ever give up! The same applies to our nation! We may stumble a hundred times, but we shall not rest until we make this country great again!"

The clapping resumes, and despite the drenched and dusty state of her attire, Kougyoku has one more challenge to tackle before day's end.

"Director, I request that the research team immediately begin mass producing this  _baek_. If this innovation can help mobilize our people, then I shall order the national treasury is to cover the cost needed for this venture."

"Understood, Your Highness. We shall commence work immediately."

"Good job, everyone! Now let's head inside and finish as much as we can before lunch!" With that, Alibaba dismisses the crowd. Besides the palace guard, he and Kougyoku are the only ones remaining outside, and he takes the opportunity to personally extend his congratulations to his friend.

"You okay?" he asks, not bothering to hide the concern in his voice.

"Mm-hmm. I'm fine. Thanks for helping me back there." And inside she's smiling so hard because even better than today's achievement is the knowledge that someone cares that much. And that this person could very well be even more proud of her than she is of herself. It's a good feeling, warm and nice and something she wants to keep for a long time afterward.

"Did you have fun?"

"Of course! It was great! A bit scary at first, but when I got the hang of it, I felt wonderful. For a moment I…I remembered Vinea."

"You miss her, don't you?"

"Yes. I haven't lost hope that one day I'll be able to fly with her again." A little bit of sadness weighs down on her again, a tinge of regret for things she couldn't keep, for people who wouldn't stay. But it is short-lived, vanishing with Alibaba's next words.

"When the next model comes out, we should have a race. The first one to complete a full circuit around the palace complex wins."

"Oh? Well then, I guess I should start practicing! We can't have Kou's empress lose to its prime minister, can we?"

"Imagine that," he says with a wide grin, "rickshaw racing, Kou's next national sport."

"You mean baek racing," she corrects him.

"It's a good invention, you know, this  _baek_  thing. Most of the palace regulars won't realize it at first, but this is a big step forward for the people. Imagine pulling a regular rickshaw. Imagine all that backbreaking work. Now they have another option."

"Mm-hm. Thanks. Thank you for considering the best interests of the citizens. Even if they're not your people, you've helped Kou so much. You have my deepest gratitude, Alibaba-chan."

He chuckles and thanks her in turn for putting so much faith in him in the first place and for choosing to fight for her people despite the odds stacked against her. They have a few minutes left before noon, and Kougyoku decides to take a little break and tour him around some of the rarely frequented sections of the palace.

"Have you seen Kouen onii-sama's and Koumei onii-sama's rooms when they were little?"

"You mean they weren't born in the library?" he says, and she fails to restrain an unladylike snort.

"So over there is where Kouha onii-sama grew up. His mother was mentally unwell so he practically took care of her himself. He's got a very compassionate side, you know."

"I noticed. When I went to fetch Koumei, he was helping distribute food among the other war prisoners. Did I mention how much taller he's become? And his hair was so silky that I mistook him for a lady!"

"My goodness! Don't tell me…is he prettier than me?"

"Huh? Um…er…he…uh…he looks good enough to blend in with a sheikh's harem."

"Really?" Kougyoku can't help but laugh. The mental picture is simply too much. "But — what would he be doing in a sheikh's harem?"

"Why, what else? He'd be checking out the latest fashions and fragrances!"

* * *

"He's gonna win, I tell you! He's gonna win! Yes, yes!"

"Faster! Faster! Hurry up!"

"Sindria is leading!"

"But wait, look at that! Reim is catching up!"

"Who would have thought riding a simple  _baek_  could become a worldwide phenomenon," Kougoku states with well-practiced calm as she and the rest of the economic committee gather around the magoi-powered screen to view the late afternoon broadcast. There is a race being held at the coliseum, and they watch with bated breaths as the head of the fanalis corps gains speed in the final lap and to win the match against his competition from Reim, Kou, Sindria, Balbadd, Yeongchi, Zugua, Alwon, Hunirsch, Quilai, and other neighboring states.

"It was inevitable. With the popularity of this invention, sooner or later something like this was bound to happen," Alibaba says, any hint of surprise in his voice muffled behind his cup of oolong tea. His _third_ cup, in fact, which is quite a feat, considering his inability to stomach even one sip just four months ago.

"Part of its commercial success may be attributed to how… _enthusiastically_ …Prime Minister Alibaba and his team promoted this particular item of Fanfan Trading," observes Koumei.

It requires all of Kougyoku's willpower not to spit out her tea. "Oh please.  _Please_. Don't get me started on how crazy that was. I thought I would choke to death laughing!"

"But hey, it  _worked_  didn't it?" Alibaba protests, as his friends launch into a round of hysterics over that not-so-fortunate event. "Every last unit sold out within a few hours. Besides, if there's anyone who should have died, it would have been me! Do you have any idea how difficult it was to maneuver a  _baek_  with one hand while carrying Ka Koubun with the other? And to make matters worse, out of all the people in the whole universe, why did it have to be _Budel_  on the backseat?


End file.
